"Yes… oh Merlin… how horrible…" Hagrid muttered, letting out a heavy sigh. "Even after all this time, people still tremble at the thought of him. That man was wicked beyond measure. His name was…"
He swallowed hard, unable to go on.
"Perhaps… we could write his name?" Harry suggested gently.
"No, no…" Hagrid shook his head at once. "I—I don't even know how to spell it. His name was Voldemort." A shiver ran through him. "That Dark Wizard was unimaginably powerful. Most witches and wizards didn't dare speak his name aloud, using only that title instead."
"Where is he now?" Harry took a slow breath.
For a brief moment, the fire of vengeance burned in his chest. He had to avenge his parents.
But he noticed Hagrid's expression suddenly change.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"Well… the Dark Lord is dead." Hagrid reached out and ruffled Harry's hair again, as if trying to comfort him. "That night, ten years ago, he tried to kill you. But you—well, no one knows how, exactly—but he failed. And then he simply… vanished."
Hagrid spread his arms, as though something had exploded into nothingness.
Harry's expression, however, turned strange.
A Dark Wizard that powerful… killed by a baby?
He had gathered his resolve, steeled himself for revenge—only to learn that it had all ended ten years ago.
No… that he himself had ended it.
It felt like striking at empty air.
"So… he's dead?" Harry asked.
"Most people believe so," Hagrid said, clenching his fist and thumping it twice against his leg. "After all, someone as wicked as him hasn't done anything for ten years. But I don't believe it. A wizard like that doesn't just disappear. I reckon he's hiding somewhere, waiting for the right moment to return."
Harry nodded slowly.
"Then, Hagrid… just how powerful was he?"
"How powerful?" Hagrid stared at Harry as if he'd grown a second head. "He had countless followers. Some followed him out of ambition, others out of fear. Those were terrible times. You never knew who to trust. Witches and wizards were dying every day. But there was one place he never dared enter freely."
"Hogwarts?" Harry ventured.
"Exactly." Hagrid's chest puffed up with pride. "Because Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard in the world. As long as he was there, not even the Dark Lord dared challenge him directly."
Harry nodded faintly. It seemed this headmaster was not nearly as unbearable as Phineas Black.
"Then… the Man of the Void—"
Hagrid flinched.
"Sorry," Harry corrected himself quickly. "I mean… during the time he was at large, did many people die?"
"Yes." Hagrid's voice dropped. "Hundreds."
Harry frowned slightly but said nothing.
"Hm… and the next day?"
"Huh?" Hagrid blinked, confused.
Realizing his slip, Harry quickly clarified, "I mean—why didn't Headmaster Dumbledore stop him sooner?"
"He tried," Hagrid replied. "Dumbledore formed an organization to fight the Dark Lord and his followers—"
Before he could finish, the train began to slow and finally came to a halt.
"I reckon we should get off now," Hagrid said, rising with some effort. "We've arrived in London."
As they disembarked, Hagrid grumbled about how narrow London's ticket gates were and how slow the train had been. Harry agreed—nothing compared to the Hogwarts Express.
Hagrid carved a path through the crowded platform.
It was Harry's first time in London—
or rather, in 1991 London.
He had visited Victorian London before.
But now skyscrapers, busy streets, and hurried crowds stretched out before him.
To Harry, only a month had passed.
To the world… an entire century.
"All right, this is it," Hagrid said, pointing to a narrow, shabby-looking pub. "The Leaky Cauldron. A famous place."
Well-dressed people walked past them without so much as a glance at Hagrid—something that was clearly unnatural.
A Muggle-Repelling Charm, Harry thought.
Hagrid ushered him inside.
The Leaky Cauldron.
Harry had been here many times before.
Founded around 1500 by Daisy Dodderidge, it served as a gateway between the Muggle world and Diagon Alley, with rooms available upstairs as well.
The last time Harry had been in London, he'd heard that the Muggle government planned to demolish the area to build Charing Cross Road. The then Minister for Magic had believed the pub could not be saved.
Still, Harry's classmates had insisted on petitioning the Ministry.
Harry had signed his name.
Now, it seemed… the Leaky Cauldron had survived.
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